My Past

aggressive white male rapper, fast-paced rap

I wore their words like winter coats — heavy, stitched with blame,  
Taught myself to love the fight, taught my anger how to aim.

Mama gave me candy, closets full of things to shine,  
Smiles in the daylight, then her sentences would carve the spine.  
Verbal grenades in lullaby, compliments that double as knives,  
Spoiled on surface, starving in the corners of my mind.  
She loved me loud but broke me loud, left catalogs of scars,  
I learned to box my feelings up and hide them underneath the cars.  
I replayed her lines in mirrored rooms, became the echo of her rage,  
Built a fortress from the fragments, then I learned to break the cage.

I rehearsed forgiveness like a sermon I could never say,  
But I kept my faith like armor — learned to kneel and pray.

My wife started bleeding from the inside out, razor whispers at midnight,  
Thought the only way to quiet storms was to run toward the white light.  
I held her while the ceiling spun, told the doctors, “Keep her safe,”  
Took hard lines so she’d see tomorrow — called it ugly, called it grace.  
Locked doors, hospital halls, a month at a time to breathe,  
Bipolar like a ghost that eats the edges of the things we need.

People call it cold — say I robbed her of her choice,  
But I heard a heartbeat stutter, and I answered with a voice.  
I watched her fade and rage inside a war that wasn’t mine to pick,  
So I learned the weight of saving someone when the clock is ticking quick.  
Nights of prayer became the soundtrack to my scavenged hope,  
Scripture on my lips while I was learning how to cope.  
God found me mid-collapse, palms open in the dust,  
Turned my fury into fervor, turned my anger into trust.

I’m screaming in the silence, I’m praying through the panic,  
Fighting through the fractures, tryna make the pieces fit.  
Found God in the wreckage, when the night was satanic,  
Turned the pain into a pulpit — now I’m preaching from the grit.
 
I’m not finished, I’m just honest — scars mapped out like constellations,  
From abandonment to avenger, from poison to salvation.  
I found God in the middle — now I’m walking out the flame,  
Still got anger in my knuckles, but I’m learning how to change.

3215/7500

I was six months old when he packed up his promises, left the crib cold, No lullaby, just a hollow echo and a story half-told. Six years counting Sundays, staring at an empty seat, Every photograph a question — how do you survive defeat? He slid back in my life like nothin’ changed, tried to rewrite the page, Pointed at my daughter like blood’s just ink, like truth can be assuaged. They said “not yours,” felt like a verdict on my chest, DNA read the sentence, cleared the air, but couldn’t mend the rest. I wore their words like winter coats — heavy, stitched with blame, Taught myself to love the fight, taught my anger how to aim. I’m screaming in the silence, I’m praying through the panic, Fighting through the fractures, tryna make the pieces fit. Found God in the wreckage, when the night was satanic, Turned the pain into a pulpit — now I’m preaching from the grit. Mama gave me candy, closets full of things to shine, Smiles in the daylight, then her sentences would carve the spine. Verbal grenades in lullaby, compliments that double as knives, Spoiled on surface, starving in the corners of my mind. She loved me loud but broke me loud, left catalogs of scars, I learned to box my feelings up and hide them underneath the cars. I replayed her lines in mirrored rooms, became the echo of her rage, Built a fortress from the fragments, then I learned to break the cage. I rehearsed forgiveness like a sermon I could never say, But I kept my faith like armor — learned to kneel and pray. I’m screaming in the silence, I’m praying through the panic, Fighting through the fractures, tryna make the pieces fit. Found God in the wreckage, when the night was satanic, Turned the pain into a pulpit — now I’m preaching from the grit. My wife started bleeding from the inside out, razor whispers at midnight, Thought the only way to quiet storms was to run toward the white light. I held her while the ceiling spun, told the doctors, “Keep her safe,” Took hard lines so she’d see tomorrow — called it ugly, called it grace. Locked doors, hospital halls, a month at a time to breathe, Bipolar like a ghost that eats the edges of the things we need. People call it cold — say I robbed her of her choice, But I heard a heartbeat stutter, and I answered with a voice. I watched her fade and rage inside a war that wasn’t mine to pick, So I learned the weight of saving someone when the clock is ticking quick. Nights of prayer became the soundtrack to my scavenged hope, Scripture on my lips while I was learning how to cope. God found me mid-collapse, palms open in the dust, Turned my fury into fervor, turned my anger into trust. I’m screaming in the silence, I’m praying through the panic, Fighting through the fractures, tryna make the pieces fit. Found God in the wreckage, when the night was satanic, Turned the pain into a pulpit — now I’m preaching from the grit. I’m not finished, I’m just honest — scars mapped out like constellations, From abandonment to avenger, from poison to salvation. I found God in the middle — now I’m walking out the flame, Still got anger in my knuckles, but I’m learning how to change.

0/500